


Cooper's Hopefuls

by Lego_GM



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Spelljammer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lego_GM/pseuds/Lego_GM
Summary: Six women, six perspectives, one goal





	1. Mary Intro

The varied terrain of the Gray Ridge Mountains supports many different biomes. There are places where a traveler can walk a few kilometers and pass through mountain scrublands, deciduous forests, and swampy bottomlands. Cross through a mountain pass and you could go from a rocky wasteland to a fertile river valley. The mountains themselves are riddled with caves, some leading to the Underdark.  
  
These different biomes support a surprising variety of sapient species, each one in its ecological niche. Goblins take to the mountains, wild desolate places where less cunning races could not prosper. Orcs settle into the valleys of the rivers that can support the traffic of large boats. Gnomes favor the hidden and quiet places with access to smaller streams, brooks, lakes, and swamps. Hobgoblins scratch a living with three-sisters farming in the rough hills, forming sprawling clans to defend their turf. Kobolds live where there are animals to hunt and trap, and caves that can be defended with traps. Tiny villages of Dragonborn and Tieflings cling to places where their ancient fallen empires once had great cities. Other, stranger races lurk in various places, the details of their cultures and ways known only to pack-pedlars, mendicant clerics of evangelical gods, and the wizards of Iradin university, who send grad students on anthropological surveys.  
  
Then there are the races that have moved in from the continents to the east. Dwarves claim those rare mountains that can be made into a great fortress, mining and burrowing into the mountain and terracing its outside to grow rows of grains. Elves move into forests and terraform them over hundreds of years, making them into beautiful orchards of diverse types of trees that grow everything from fruit and nuts to mithral armor, and eventually crafting grand courtly cities and splitting their society into the castes of wood-elves of the forests and high-elves of the courts. Halflings live wherever there is a civilization that will allow them, for their niche is the city.  
  
Humans find defensible places that can support both farming and mining, and form proud independent fairy-tale kingdoms nestled in picturesque secluded valleys. They build castles to guard the mountain passes, and fill the valleys with farms divided by split-rail fences.  
  
In the time our story begins, one of the richest and most prosperous of these was the Kingdom of Mecklenberg. It commanded a fertile river valley and a mine of enchantment-grade mica that was constantly renewed by a fast-upwelling mountain. Crafters turned this mica into magical shields and armor, which was sold to the wealthy and well-connected and also issued to a well-trained royal guard. The Mecklenberg Guard, along with an inaccessible location and the credible threat of a magitech self-destruct device to scuttle the mines, secured the kingdom against any outside threat smaller than a major world power.  
  
The kingdom was ruled by the Hanovers. They descended from a bold adventurer who had, hundreds of years ago, driven the kobolds from the valley, cleared out the ghoul-and-construct-infested remnants of a Dragonborn logistics depot, and finally slain the dragon living in the mica mine. Rather than move on to the next adventure, she laid claim to the valley, invited all of her friends to join her, mail-ordered a wizard husband from Iradin, and settled down to live the good life.  
  
Over the centuries, as her descendants and the descendants of her friends filled the valley, the royal family became focused on preserving its status among the other humans, which meant distinguishing themselves with a performance of being wealthy, powerful nobles. If they started doing common things, then the commoners might start to wonder what exactly the difference between commoner and royalty was.  
  
And so it was that Princess Mary Hanover, who had inherited the wild energy and yearnings of her ancestor Charlotte, had a rough childhood. The demands of her family's status were constantly in conflict with the demands of her nature, and status usually won when a compromise could not be found.  
  
Falconry was one of the better compromises, combining the pastimes of royalty with Mary's love of animals and wild things. Mary was in the middle of an ordinary enjoyable morning in the aviary, feeding her red-tailed hawks from a bucket of freshly killed rats, when she saw a young gnome, one of the house-servants, scurrying towards her.  
  
"Your Highness, His Majesty has requested that you report to Emilia in the wardrobe vault immediately."  
  
Mary sighed. "Thank you, I will be right over. Please have Soaring Eagle finish the feeding."  
  
She knew how this worked. If she was late or did not come, the servant would be blamed and punished. This implied threat to others was the best way the family had found to make her obey. But as usual, she had a way to resist, to assert her will. You could never get in trouble if you obeyed commands to the letter, going to extreme measures to do so.  
  
So she took a deep breath, turned towards the keep, crouched down, and took off in a very unladylike sprint. Although it was scandalously without decorum, her stride was graceful and her breathing steady as she bounded through the paths, turning swiftly and sidestepping around obstacles as necessary. She had a runner's thin physique, suited for swift movement and long steady effort, and her clothing of trousers and elf-made moccasins gave her the freedom of movement she needed.  
  
As she ran, she took a moment to relish the feel of this practical clothing, knowing that she would soon be taken from it. She was surely being called to the wardrobe vault to be fitted for some kind of horrible confining corsetry and costuming, in preparation for being paraded around at some ball or ancient religious ritual or coronation or something. She was about to suffer through several hours of standing still inside, being poked and prodded and slowly encased in a stifling cocoon of elegant fripperies, like a web-trapped bug being wrapped up by a spider. Her running was not just petulance, it was a way to burn off energy so she could tolerate standing around and being cooped up for so long.  
  
As much as she might have preferred to arrive at the vault sweaty and out of breath and looking like a miserable commoner, as a rebuke to being ordered around, she bounded in swiftly and gracefully, her breathing only slightly elevated, like a huntress reporting for duty.  
  
She noticed one of the guards looking at her with appreciative interest. He obviously saw the Princess not as an untouchable distant noble, but as an attractive, healthy, graceful woman. He doing his best, and failing miserably, to disguise his interest and desire. Mary grinned and winked at him, not because she had any interest in him, but because causing chatter and rumors would be excellent retaliation for whatever dignified indignity she was about to be subjected to.  
  
Then she saw that there were five guards in the antechamber guarding the vault, including Captain Daniels. That was unusual. Usually there would only be one or two lower-ranked guards, to make sure that the servants did not filch any valuable pieces of clothing, or threaten a member of the royal family. And in addition to Emilia, the dressmaker, there was Gustavo the armorer and several of his workers.  
  
The Captain nodded respectfully and seriously at her. "Thank you for your promptness." He looked to see if anyone was around, and after confirming that no household servants were anywhere nearby, continued, "You are being fitted for a suit of Mica Scale, and it is best that we finish as soon as possible, before any word can spread."  
  
This was serious. The magic-resistant Mica Scale armor, the family's source of wealth and power, was real armor, for warriors and adventurers, not lady's costuming.  
  
Captain Daniels opened the vault. "Private Shuford." He glared at the guard who had ogled Mary. "Guard the door. Everyone else gather inside."  
  
They crowded in between the rows of fancy suits with their silk and lace and pearls and shiny glamoured magical baubles. Daniels then closed the vault door. "Everyone turn to face the door and close your eyes. Even you, Princess."  
  
They did so. Daniels moved about. Mary heard mechanical clicking and buzzing, then a sharp brief hum, like an insect but somehow more metallic and airy at the same time. "Okay, you can look now."  
  
A part of the floor had swung up, revealing a ladder to a lower vault. Mary had been in the clothing vault many times, and had never seen a trapdoor there or guessed its existence. "Okay, everyone down."  
  
Mary had always known that her family must have a true treasure vault, one filled not with stupid gold and gems and decorations, but with real magical treasures: weapons, armor, shields, and fantastic devices. She knew that there were many warriors and adventurers in her family's history, and she knew that they shared the same magical tools, a growing collection of heirlooms passed through the generations. She knew that somewhere in the castle, all of their equipment would be stored, waiting to be used, a heaping pile of magical treasure glittering with enchantment and possibility.  
  
This is not what she saw in the lower vault. Instead, she saw workbenches, tools, and mannequins for fitting. One wall was filled with a grid of locked steel doors, ranging in size from an oven door to a jewelry box.  
  
Daniels looked at Mary. "Do not touch any of those doors. In fact, do not get within five feet of any of them."  
  
The gnomes started arranging themselves silently at the workbenches, either following prearranged instructions or guessing their role. They very carefully did not look at Daniels as he went to one of the larger doors, tapped it with a wand in three places, unlocked it with a mithral key, and took out a suit of armor.  
  
He handed the armor to Gustavo, who arranged it on a mannequin. Mary saw that it was fit for a woman, although one larger and more full-figured than herself. Why had she never heard any stories of a woman adventurer in her family's history?  
  
She turned to Daniels. "Who did this belong to?"  
  
He shrugged. "I don't know. I was just given box numbers and keys and instructions."  
  
"Why am I being fitted for real armor?"  
  
"I can't say."  
  
His brusque manner, and the efficient technical chatter of the gnomes, told Mary that there would be no conversation. So she stood silently as she was measured, and various parts of armor were tested, strapped, unstrapped, and adjusted. This gave her plenty of time to ponder what was going on.  
  
Why would she be dressed in real armor?  
  
There was only one possible answer: She was being sent to meet Martin Cooper, and her father had calculated that this outfit was the best way to make her look attractive to him.  
  
In her less fiery and more thoughtful moments, Mary understood her family's situation. She knew that roles must be performed and images must be maintained. If they were not, the social order that benefited her so much would be threatened. The continuation of her comfortable lifestyle, perhaps even her life, required that her family follow rules and conventions and play politics, sometimes ruthlessly. Mary, despite her hatred for the arrogant class-consciousness and racism of her family, understood this at some level, and so she usually did what was necessary to go along with their plots and schemes.  
  
The daughters of the family were placed in political marriages that maintained the independence of Mecklenberg and the sovereignty of Hanover. Most of women in her family were, or appeared to be, perfectly happy with this. Some were content to live happy lives of idle decadence, others enjoyed being the cunning and powerful center of vast intrigues, and a few cultivated the arts of magic and enchantment. The temperaments of Hanover daughters were visible at an early age, and they were generally were placed in situations that fit them. Mary was the only one who was not understood, who did not fit into any role they knew. She alternated between hating them for their stupidity and hating herself for being a freak.  
  
Although at the time she saw only boneheaded rigidity, Mary would later learn that His Majesty, King Frederick, despite his many faults, was very good at playing politics, and at working with the tools and materials that the gods gave him. He knew that it would be a mistake to try to force Mary to be something that she was not. She had been given an unprecedented freedom to follow her whims and do her own thing, within reason. Her more traditional siblings could be fit into more traditional roles. Royal families were allowed to have a couple oddballs. Crushing her spirit would definitely destroy her and make her useless, and allowing her to do her own thing might have an unexpected benefit.  
  
And in his own way, the king did care about Mary's well-being. Obviously he could not give her anything that threatened the kingdom or the family's place as its rulers, but she was his daughter, and he did love her, as much as he was capable of love.  
  
So when Mary reached the age of marriage, His Majesty had her send a proposal to Martin Cooper, the powerful but uncouth wizard of common birth who had spent the last three years rearranging the political landscape (and occasionally the physical landscape) of the Gray Ridge region. Mary had no choice in this, but it was clear to her that in the unlikely event that a marriage actually happened, she would tolerate being Martin's wife much better than she would tolerate any other suitable husband. And she would tolerate being Martin's wife much better than any of her sisters would tolerate being hitched to a wilderness-tromping commoner.  
  
Martin was, or pretended to be, the kind of scatterbrained wizard who would let marriage proposals sit around for years before he got around to answering them one way or another, or even acknowledging them. This meant that, while waiting for his response, Mary had enjoyed a nice time of freedom. This time had obviously ended.  
  
After the initial fitting was done, and the gnomes strapped every piece of the armor on and were satisfied that it was all secure, Mary got another surprise. Captain Daniels said, "Okay, step down and start moving around. Tell them if anything pinches or rattles or restricts your movement."  
  
This was new. In dress fittings, nobody ever cared if Mary could move around comfortably. She was lucky if she could sit down without ripping something. She tentatively stepped down and started through a series of dance steps, gliding gracefully around in a waltz. The gnomes scurried around her, looking, listening, and occasionally poking at the armor.  
  
It felt good. Mary had always assumed that armor was like her dresses, but even heavier and worse. But she could move around in this armor more easily than she could in most dresses. It was a revelation that made her even angrier at her family's stupid rules. She was constantly forced into in things that confined and hobbled her, and displayed parts of her body like some kind of prize horse, while men got to wear a shiny, comfortable, stylish outfit that could turn a boar-spear and stop a force bolt from a six-shooter. And the man's outfit came with pockets and a utility belt.  
  
Captain Daniels watched this for a few minutes, letting Mary get used to the weight and feel of the armor. Then he called out. "Really move. Act like you are tromping through the woods in your trousers. Cut loose. Drop to the floor, get up, run, jump, climb up the ladder, do a cartwheel."  
  
Mary hesitated. This had gone beyond eccentric and into creepy. What exactly was she supposed to be doing when she met Martin? But she complied, tentatively at first, and then eagerly. She might never get another chance to play around in armor, so she might as well enjoy it.  
  
It was hard to lift her arms to climb, and the armor nearly slid off when she did the cartwheel, but otherwise it worked really well. Obviously it was harder than moving around in a cotton shirt and trousers, but it was easier, and a lot more fun, than formalwear.  
  
After she had gone through her paces, the gnomes took off the armor and started to fix the shoulder movement and adjust the waist and hips for a better fit when upside down. Daniels handed Mary a canteen to drink from, and then, almost before she realized what was happening, he handed her a shield.  
  
It was beautiful. A mosaic of white and black mica flakes formed the falcon crest of House Hanover. Daniels showed her how to strap it onto her arm and hold it. Then he handed her a small curved sword in a steel scabbard. "Hold this gently, no sudden movements."  
  
Mary immediately noticed that it clashed with the rest of the outfit. Both the scabbard and what she could see of the sword hilt were ridiculously ornamented, with inlays of gold and gemstones. The inlays on the scabbard formed a stylized picture of someone in an exotic outfit slashing a dragon's throat. It had obviously come from far away, no doubt taken in some grand adventure by one of her ancestors.  
  
One of the gnomes looked at Mary's hand with a jeweler's loupe that had a glowing green pinwheel spinning on its side. "No odd magical effects detected, sir. Looks like a good match."  
  
Daniels nodded, then took the sword and shield and put them back into their lockers. He then instructed Mary and the gnomes through a second round of movement testing and armor fitting, and then a third. After hours of work, he announced, "That's good enough for now. Get it oiled and coated and ready for field work."  
  
Mary turned around at this. "Field work? What are you planning? Will I be going through a hike in the woods with Martin?"  
  
"I can't say, ma'am. Now, let's go get you a good lunch."  
  
Daniels took Mary out of the vault, locking the gnomes and soldiers inside, and then escorted her to the dining hall before going into the King's Chambers for a consultation with His Majesty and the royal advisers and sages.  
  
After lunch, things got even stranger. Daniels took Mary to the training yard and explained that he would be teaching her the basics of fighting with the scimitar and shield. Mary, who had been hoping for something like this for as long as she could remember, did not ask any more questions about what was going on. She simply resolved to be the best student possible, to learn as much as she could and do as well as she could. It did not matter why this was happening, it only mattered that it last as long as possible.  
  
After two days of intense training, the armor was ready. Then Daniels and Soaring Eagle took her on hikes through the woods, showing her how to manage while equipped with armor, sword, shield, and an adventurer's pack. After they got back in the afternoon, Daniels would instruct the gnomes on more armor adjustments and continue her sword training. At night Mary would get luxurious massages and herbal treatments to help her heal and recover, and if that did not work, the family's cleric would give her a healing spell.  
  
After four days of this, they stayed out for a night of camping in the woods (with Mary's maidservant Belen sharing her tent as chaperone, of course.) Then, things got even more intense. They woke Mary up early in the morning, before the sun rose, and walked her through deep woods in the dark. They took her to an abandoned mine shaft, where a gnome miner taught Mary the basics of mine safety and led her, still wearing full armor and kit, into the depths. Then Daniels drilled her again, sparring by the dim blue light of glowing miner's helmets.  
  
After Mary got used to this, the miner started making a beastly racket, using a horn and some kind of gnomish noisemaking contraption. Mary almost lost her nerves at this, but pushed through, reminding herself that this was just a test. She knew that she was being trained to adventure the same way that she trained falcons to wear a hood and leash, by slow and steady habituation to overcome her instincts.  
  
As a finale, they made it even scarier by having the gnome fire crossbow bolts over Mary's head. A week ago, she had been forbidden from even swinging a stick or carrying a knife into the woods. Now she was equipped with real armor and shield and a real-feeling bamboo scimitar, sparring with the captain of the royal guard, in dim ghostly light, in an abandoned mine shaft with bad footing, with a loud racket blaring in her ears, while bolts whistled over her head. And yet, she managed to keep calm and focus on the fast graceful sword style that she had been taught, sidestepping and parrying Daniels's strong fierce attacks.  
  
When they went back to the castle that night, Mary saw her father for the first time in a week. She had not seen him at all since the morning she was first called into the armor fitting. That usually happened when he was plotting something. When he joined her and the family at dinner, she thanked him sincerely, but politely and with as much decorum as she could muster, for giving her the ability to train with weapons and armor.  
  
He nodded regally. "My sages told me to prepare you for a great adventure in Wildspace to perform a task for Martin Cooper. We should know more soon. Keep up the good work."  
  
That was about as warm and polite as he got. Mary curtsied, then ate dinner, reminding herself to eat slowly and with royal decorum even though her body was demanding that she consume twice as much food as she normally would.  
  
Mary thought about Wildspace all night, her mind spinning with the rumors and stories she had picked up. Space pirates, horrible monsters, grand adventures, incomprehensible magic. A place for the wild and reckless, to be shunned by stable civilized people. And she would be going out there, knowing almost nothing of adventure. Would she make it back alive? Would anyone care if she did not? Did she even care?  
  
The next morning, she went up to the tallest tower of the castle, the rune-protected steel one with the air defense artillery, and looked up into the sky. It was a clear day, so she could see thousands of floating islands. She looked at them with a new perspective. They had never seemed real before. Like the mountains in the distance, or the clouds that also floated in the sky, she had always seen them as background details, flat distant things. Usually she forgot they were even there.  
  
But now she knew that she would soon be going there, and that reminded her that they were real. People could fly to them in fantastic ships, and walk around on them. What would it be like to do that? Would it be like walking through the forests that she loved, with the trees and plants and animals that she knew, or would it be a bizarre alien realm? All she could see was big chunks of rock, sometimes with a haze of greenery on top and spilling over the sides.  
  
What was it like, among the islands in the sky? What would she find there?  
  
Whatever it was, it had to be better than her life here.  
  



	2. Tsinta Intro

I pray  
  
to the large gods and to the small  
to the gods of universal virtues and of sacred places  
see me love me guide me teach me use me  
let my path be a joyous harmonious chaos of exultation  
and let my life and my deeds be beautiful in the sight of all good people  
  
I watch  
  
the cold clear water of the mountain stream  
make barely a ripple  
as my clay-colored elfin hands  
dip my paddle  
and push  
my canoe  
gently  
forward  
in the dappled light and shadow  
of the bright morning sun in a clear sky  
passing through the leaves  
of the oak and the sugar maple and the beech and the yellow birch  
and I can with perfect clarity see  
the trout and the dragonfly larvae and the water beetles  
moving dancing eating chasing mating  
living their short happy fae lives and  
  
I feel  
  
I am happy  
because I am them and they are me  
they sense that I mean them no harm and will not disrupt their lives  
and sharing these sensations  
a trio of naiads  
with their brood of love-children  
and their mishipeshu  
emerge from hiding  
and wave at me and bless me and dance for me  
and there is a tingling of magic and destiny from my toes to my ears  
and I know that this is a sign that something important is to happen today so  
  
I listen  
  
in the crisp still cool morning air  
to the  
gentle  
rustle  
of a light breeze  
through the leaves  
of the oak and the sugar maple and the beech and the yellow birch  
to the gentle sussurus of the stream over the moss-covered rocks  
to the droning of distant cicadas  
to the calls of the blue jay and the cardinal  
and the brown thrasher  
  
I see  
  
the brown thrasher  
my bird my spirit my guide the chosen messenger of my patrons  
this is an omen I must watch closely  
the brown thrasher flies over to an old cracked gnarled red oak  
where a spider the size of a bobcat  
climbs up toward a nest with baby squirrels  
the brown thrasher flutters and fights the spider as though it were defending its own nest this is not natural the spider is not natural it does not belong so  
  
I kill the spider with a moonbeam  
I pray I watch I feel I listen I see I oracle  
  
the body of the alien spider hits the water with a splash that echoes  
beyond space beyond time beyond sensation into the depths of my soul  
and the mishipeshu eats it in a single gulp  
and I know  
that the time has come  
to go to the mountain that reaches beyond the pull of the land into the open sky  
where goblins do foul unnatural things to try to own the sky  
  
for I am in deeply in love with a man that I have never met  
it is the will of the Goddess Melora  
and the spirits of the land and of the water of and the sky  
that I must seek out the favor of Martin Cooper and marry him  
this has been true for a year and a day  
which felt like a splash of water and also like the lifetime of a treant  
and now the waiting is over and it is time for action and destiny  
  



	3. Mabellyne Intro

_[Scene: A room decorated in a fantastic manner. The back wall is covered with otherworldly paintings, and contains a bookcase with bizarre trophies and objects, including a large ornate sand timer that lasts for about two minutes. In the middle of the room there is a table with six chairs, also of outlandish design._  
  
 _A CHORUS of five women in fantastic masks and cloaks sit around a table. When the chorus speaks, usually one person speaks one line, and another speaks the next line. But sometimes multiple people speak a line simultaneously. Sometimes a line is started by one person and ended by many, or vice versa. Sometimes one member or group will complete another's line, and sometimes one woman will ask a question and then answer it herself._  
  
 _There is a whistle offstage.]_  
  
 **Chorus** : Come in, my child.  
 ****  
 **Mabellyne** _[walks in, curtsies, and takes a seat. She is scared and nervous.]_  
 ****  
 **Chorus** : We have much to discuss. But first, a statement.  
Mabellyne Geargadget, we wish to make it common knowledge that your life belongs to you.  
You may reject us and our plans at any time. The worst possible outcome for you is leaving the family and starting life over as a young free woman with money and a good education.  
This is your threat point, and if you agree to anything unpleasant for the sake of the family, you may demand appropriate compensation.  
Do you understand?  
 ****  
 **Mabellyne** _[softly]_ : Yes  
 ****  
 **Chorus** : Do you, Mabellyne Geargadget, consent to become objectified as a discussion topic in a Ritual of Rationality?  
 ****  
 **Mabellyne** _[softly]_ : Yes  
 __  
 _[With great solemnity and ceremony, each member of the CHORUS does a ridiculous thing and makes a change to their wardrobe.]_  
 ****  
 **Chorus** : We have learned from our source in the League Mission Command that Martin Cooper wants to collect all of the adventurers who have proposed to him and send them all on a wildspace mission to test their skills and character.  
 ****  
 **Mabellyne** _[sobs openly]_.  
 __  
 _[The CHORUS ignores this as they continue talking among themselves.]_  
 ****  
 **Chorus** : So, our question for this meeting is what to do now.  
Which suitor will generate the least disutility, after negotiated compensation, and how can we best game the negotiations?  
Objection, ill-formed question, unnecessary limiting of options. Brainstorm.  
Disowning and exile. Always an option, but she must navigate that herself, without assistance.  
Fight for systemic change. Highly Unlikely. Even if we had provably better rules to propose, we would have no credibility.  
I think we can get her on the mission.  
 _[murmuring, shock]_  
She is a daughter of nobility, not a sellsword. Even the jarheads in Space Command know that.  
If we pull some strings and grease some palms, we can get her name added to the list of suitable adventurers.  
Query. Mabellyne.  
 _[The CHORUS looks at Mabellyne.]_  
Before we discuss this further, are you winning to risk your life in wildspace if we can devise a suitable strategy?  
 ****  
 **Mabellyne** : Well, if the risk is not too much, then yes.  
 __  
 _[The CHORUS goes back to discussion.]_  
 ****  
 **Chorus** : Any experienced hero who meets her will see instantly that she is no adventurer.  
Martin is not supervising this mission directly and has no plans to meet them before they leave. He is busy with other things and delegated the details.  
How can he be that lax about the choice of his future wife?  
He probably has no intention of making a decision any time soon. He wants to wait, and collect information. He will use the debriefings of this mission, and possibly many more, to help make a fully informed decision at a later time.  
Still, this seems like an odd way to choose a wife. Send all the suitors on a wildspace mission, without meeting them or having his people do background checks and interviews, just to test them for some character trait? What is his game?  
Humans are strange, and wizards are strange. I also hear that he has been under a lot of stress recently due to the River Disaster and some major secret mission. And maybe he is actually a bit crazy, instead of being a cunning operator pretending to be crazy like everyone assumes?  
We still do not know what he is looking for in a wife.  
 _[pause in conversation]_  
I think we need to think about this for a turn of the glass.  
 __  
 _[A CHORUS member stands up, takes the Thinking Glass from its place on the bookshelf, places it on the table, turns it, and sits down. The lights on the chorus dim. Everyone in the chorus sits silently as the grains of sand trickle down, occasionally jotting notes with chalk on pads of slate._ _MABELLYNE gets up, fidgets nervously, and walks around, before addressing the audience in a spotlight.]_  
 ****  
 **Mabellyne** : I am a careful sensible girl. I like nice comfortable things. I love books and a quiet life, and I never would have imagined becoming an adventurer. Really, all I wanted was to land some solid boring job like rocket engineer, and be married to a decent man who would take good care of my kids. But it seems that this will not be my fate.  
  
You may laugh at the rules and rituals of goblin society, but they really do make sense. If we did not force high-aptitude people like me to marry and reproduce before a certain age, then the inevitable logic of the arms race would make us delay family formation to focus on education and career, until our bodies are too old to produce healthy offspring, if we can even have them at all. The inevitable genetic deterioration would eventually destroy us.  
  
There are loopholes and exceptions, but they are limited. If I break the rules, my family will face serious political and economic sanctions. However, all genetically compatible single men that I have met are absolutely horrible, for one reason or another.  
  
We have been delaying as long as possible, hoping for someone better to some along so I do not have to marry or be disowned. We have even been paying the elves to run genetic tests to find humans that I might be compatible with. They discovered that I would be a match for the great wizard Martin Cooper, who is obviously quite a catch, so we sent a marriage proposal to him. We calculated that he would probably reject me, but according to our rules, I am not obligated to marry while he is considering the proposal. But now the situation has changed, forcing us to act.  
 __  
 _[When the sand is almost gone, the light returns to the table and MABELLYNE goes back to her seat.]_  
 ****  
 **Chorus** : Maybe he does not actually want to choose a wife, and is just using the hopefuls as tools to accomplish some other goal?  
Unlikely. He is a good person, and good people don't like using other people as tools, especially people who have professed their love and devotion.  
He is neutral, not lawful. Consequentialists have no problem with that.  
Still, it is a bit out of character.  
The question is moot. Getting Mabellyne on the mission would give us more time to operate, and she might even get chosen.  
I am not convinced we can do it.  
Like every goblin noble, she has basic combat training and a sound classical education from good tutors. The goal of the mission is to collect scientific specimens, not to kill things. She is a good candidate for a mission support specialist.  
Wildspace gets nasty, dealing with the things out there is not like sparring. The risk to her life is serious.  
They are sticking to the moons with tamer ecosystems. She will be part of a team. With some intensive training and our family's collection of heirloom magic items, I am confident she will be safe.  
What makes you think the real adventurers won't rat her out, or just let her get eaten by a jellyfish or something to thin out the competition?  
This is Martin Cooper. Do you think anyone will think that he will marry anyone who deliberately lets someone die? If anyone is responsible for the death of a crew member, everyone else will use that to disqualify her. And a conspiracy is unlikely because of the reward for defection. Even a dumb adventurer will know that, or will see it instantly when it is explained to her.  
So the risk should be small, and the rewards substantial.  
The odds of being chosen are small, and we have no good strategy to improve them.  
The reward is not in being chosen, the reward is in the delay. It should be possible to delay Martin's choice so that it requires several missions for him to decide.  
Yes. Brainstorm. Strategize.  
Conceal information. Conspiracy of silence. Make decision impossible.  
It will only work if everyone agrees. How can we give the other women an incentive to conceal information?  
Make it more profitable to go on more missions than to force a choice. Remind them that nobody knows what Martin wants, so they have small odds of being chosen.  
It is very profitable to be part of well-functioning adventuring company with a constant supply of missions from a patron who wants you alive. Make a good thing that everyone wants to keep going.  
Yes. Yes. Yes.  
We have a strategy. Equip, train, prepare, go on the mission, work to make it run as smoothly as possible. If possible, make it so Martin needs to send you on more missions before making a choice.  
 _[The CHORUS looks at Mabellyne.]_  
Are you willing to put in the work for this, and risk your life in wildspace?  
 ****  
 **Mabellyne** _[breathes deeply, then answers strongly]_ : Yes.  
  



	4. Gladys Intro

Hypercube Universe, Prime Material Plane, Meiguo Continent, Gray Ridge Region, Cerraitopolis, Goblin District, 12 Alchemy Lane, Apt 6  
  
47 Autumn, Year 684, Fifth Age  
  
Wake up. Energy level :-(  
  
coffee + pills = breakfast. Per routine, slug down morning regimen of nootropics and strong goblin coffee with 40 ccs of butter.  
  
Energy level now :-)  
  
Take vital signs and jot in log book: waist and wrist circumference, pulse, respiration, left nostril dilation. Calculate 30-day moving averages and total factor score.  
  
Doctor: "Everything continues to trend toward ideal mountain-dwarf physique."  
  
Joy: "Life is good! Living proof of the potential of transgoblinism."  
  
Logic: "Survivor Bias."  
  
Doctor: "What worked for this body will, with enough study, work for everyone."  
  
Logic: "Optimism Bias."  
  
Ego: "Settle down. Although benefit from acknowledging and listening to many brain processes, need to get moving and get things done."  
  
Dress. Civvies, not combat gear, but still packing easily-quaffable rage juice and a handaxe. And wearing broomer leathers. Because $#!7 happens.  
  
Slow day; not much planned. Lab work mainly; Finish some brews. Funds running low, so start asking around for jobs.  
  
First, Go to post office. Check mail.  
  
You've got mail!  
  
Fancy mail.  
  
Envelope smells of wealth and status. Literally. Nice smooth rich thick white paper, recently produced. Bleached with alkaline hydrogen peroxide, magnesium salts, and sodium silicate. Pattern printed in it to prevent you from reading anything through the envelope. Sealed with the official League seal. Tamperproof wax with that special scent nobody has been able to duplicate.  
  
Rip open. Read.  
  
"Gladys Joyjuice,  
  
You, along with the other people listed at the bottom of this letter, have been specially chosen for a mission for the Gray Ridge League..."  
  
Adventurer: "Awesome!"  
  
Logic: "Why? How have come to attention of League? Have done no missions for them, have no special fame."  
  
Skip past legalese, mission description, conditions, reward, go directly to last paragraph:  
  
"If interested, immediately contact the other people chosen for the mission, organize yourselves into an adventuring company, acquire transportation, and undertake the mission immediately."  
  
Look at names.  
  
Logic: "Puzzling. What did these names have in common?"  
  
Anthropologist: "Names: wood elf, human, goblin noble, me, orc, high elf. No commonality there."  
  
Adventurer: "Recognize the orc, Ra fal. She is realm-hero tier. Nobody else is. Know the high elf, Sofonisba, is the one who always takes books as her share of the loot. Never heard of the rest."  
  
Socialite: "Wait, think know! Have heard all these names being gossipped about! These are people who have offered their hands in marriage to Martin Cooper!"  
  
Joy:  "Martin Cooper is interested in marriage!!!1!! And he is choosing an adventuring wife over a political marriage:‑O Might be married to the great and powerful wizard Martin Cooper, the Inventor of Cooper's Bent Lightning:‑D Could be his henchwoman, and go on epic adventures with him\o/"  
  
Adventurer: "Agree completely. Adventuring as companion of high-level spellcaster is lifetime dream. More loot, more fun, better stories, better experience."  
  
Doctor: "Agree completely. Martin's alchemical and arcane expertise would be invaluable for transgoblinist goals."  
  
Anthropologist: "Agree completely. Martin's idea of marriage likely suits personality much better than goblin marriage norms. And would learn much about many things, and meet many interesting people, from traveling in Martin's circles."  
  
Socialite: "Agree completely. Would become center of attention, gain much status. And Martin is potentially a person who could connect with and understand on a deep level."  
  
Logic: "Agree completely. Low chance of success, but very high expected payoff and low opportunity cost of making an attempt."  
  
Ego: "Doing this."  
  
Adventurer: "Check mission description so can rebalance loadout appropriately."  
  
Scan letter.  
  
"The mission is to explore wildspace islands to find and harvest samples of hypoallergenic wildspace turnips. Preliminary scouting and ecological calculations indicate that suitable islands may be found at the following coordinates:"  
  
Adventurer: "LOL WTF?"  
  
Alchemist: "Martin obviously needs new ingredients for his multispecies meeting-place restaurant, to improve the quality of its cuisine. Things that anybody from any species will find palatable, or at least will not poison them. Got this."  
  
Suddenly busy day. Break leases on apartment and lab space. Sell nonportable equipment. Rearrange remainder into ship-portable alchemy lab. Purchase reference books, supplies, and reagents for allergen and nutrient content analysis.  
  
Follow letter's instructions to self-organize. How?  
  
Logic: "Schelling point."  
  
Adventurer: "Ra fal, as highest level adventurer."  
  
Logic: "Does she have a permanent address that would be known to all letter recipients?"  
  
Adventurer: "No, she moves all over, leaves confidential itinerary with post office to forward everything."  
  
Anthropologist. "Boomport. Known by all to be goblin shipyards and spaceport, and home to League Space Command."  
  
Adventurer: "The gnomish shipyards at Hazrad are known for making solid adventuring ships."  
  
Engineer: "Goblin ships are higher-performance, preferred by skilled crews. The main advantages of gnome ships are cost, ruggedness, and being foolproof."  
  
Anthropologist: "This fact would be widely known among adventurers, and few people self-identify as low-skilled."  
  
Logic: "Two letter recipients have obviously goblin names, making goblin ship the focal point."  
  
Socialite: "And Boomport is the home of Martin's restaurant. The happening place for meeting and making deals."  
  
Logic: "That settles it. Shelling-point location is Boomport, Golden Mean Restaurant. Time?  
  
Adventurer: "Standard practice for gathering is to post name on inn's message board when get in town, then check each night for other posted names. Meet for breakfast day after see all names.  
  
Anthropologist: "Surely the Golden Mean has an appropriate message board or system. Use that.  
  
Ego: "Have plan. Take next coach to Boomport. Get moving."


	5. Ra fal Intro

I woke up in a comfortable bed, to the friendly chiming of a gnomish alarm clock. As usual when in Estanques, I was staying in a secure private room in a decent hotel in the business district.  
  
I reached over to the nightstand, turned off the device, grabbed a blueberry-pemmican ration square, and started gnawing on it. Gnomish food is never filling enough to satisfy an orcish appetite, so I always have to fortify myself with high-energy snacks, even on a day when I have several power lunches lined up.  
  
After a leisurely breakfast in bed, allowing the food to rouse my body from slumber, I heaved myself over to the dressing table to begin my morning makeup routine. First I cleaned my teeth and polished my fangs with three sizes of toothpicks, a toothbrush, a silk cloth, two types of toothpaste, and finally a rosewater-scented mouthwash. Then a quick brush and rebraiding of the hair, which was easy because it had been straightened and dyed blonde only two days ago.  
  
Then I washed my face, and applied makeup: foundation to smooth out the skin, contouring to soften the cheekbones, eyeliner and eyeshadow to offset the red eyes, and miscellaneous bits of color and decoration to distract and focus attention.  
  
After 30 minutes of skillful work and several shillings' worth of high-end cosmetics, I had transformed my face from 'feral hunter' into 'exotic nobility'. Even though the Ushkri had the oldest and proudest civilization west of the Tuck River, there were still people who believed that orcs could not be civilized savvy businesspeople. The same people also tended to believe that women could not be hardy capable adventurers, so the trick was to make their prejudices cancel out.  
  
Next, I swapped my nightgown for a silk undershirt and black denim trousers, and started lacing up my custom-fitted cork armor padding. In addition to the practical benefits of impact resistance and precisely calibrated buoyancy, it served as corsetry, pushing the inevitable little rolls of orcish flab into places where they looked better. When the armor padding was secure and adjusted properly, I donned and clipped in my mariner-grade rustless-steel chainmail, then pulled a deep blue tunic over the chainmail, and finally a bandolier over the tunic.  
  
Then, I put on the Spell Alert Necklace. It clashed with the rest of my outfit, but, as someone who was capable of casting mind-altering magic spells, I was forced by law to wear it at all times while in the city. Next up were the brilliant cloth-of-gold cloak, and the white wide-brimmed hat that shielded my face from the sunlight. Finally, a mostly decorative peace-bonded longsword to complete the ensemble.  
  
I turned to the mirror and made a few final adjustments, to make sure that I looked like what the gnomes would expect of a dashing and professional river captain, capable of commanding any crew and guarding any cargo on any journey through the League or the Magic Lands. When I was satisfied, it was time to head out to check my mail and then go on to my meetings with prospective clients.  
  
As always, I left a generous tip for the maid: two pence, plus one of the exotic little hexagonal copper pieces I had looted from a Dragonborn crypt years ago. The moneychangers valued the ancient Dragonborn coins at only two bits each, but people were always happy to get them. The coins were fun and exotic, and it usually brightened up the day of a menial laborer to be given a piece of adventurer’s loot. It was a tip with a story behind it, and it made people feel special to be connected to that story. The other adventurers had laughed at me for lugging dozens of pounds of copper coins back to civilization, but that sack of coppers has served me better than most loot hauled from dungeons.  
  
As I stepped outside, I heard the bouncy tunes of a mariachi band that some merchant had hired to draw attention to a storefront. I swaggered in their direction, with all of the self-confidence of an experienced adventurer. As I passed, I smiled at them, pulled a two-shilling piece from my pocket, kissed it (on the side without Corellon's face, of course), and tossed it at the tip jar.  
  
It missed, dinging off the side and clattering onto the cobblestones. Inwardly, I cursed my clumsiness, but outwardly, I gave the band a saucy grin as if I planned it that way. As I caught the gaze of one gnomish face after another, I saw blushes travel up two of them, and the music started to play with more pop and vigor. I swaggered off, making it my personal tune for the day. _I still have it. Charisma is as charisma does._  
  
Halfway to the post office, on the boardwalks near the dock warehouses, I saw a rat scavenging for food. I glared at and growled, in a deep baritone, "Filth."  
  
Nothing happened. My spirit was not in the right place. Over the course of a few seconds, I filled my mind with thoughts and songs and stories and images, forging a connection to the source of my magic. _I speak not for gods or primordials, but for the collective narrative will of sapient creatures. I am their voice, the instrument by which their dreams and stories come to life._  
  
I focused on stories of rats consuming, devouring, causing plague and killing infants in their cribs. Then I spoke again, my voice woven with enchantment and will. "Baby-killer."  
  
The rat twitched, squeaked, and collapsed in a dead heap, blood oozing from its eyes. I grinned and continued walking, happy that I had done my bit to clean up the city.  
  
When I got to the post office, I smiled to the clerk and bowed to him with a flourish. “Good morning, Raúl Ernesto Jebeddo Umberto-Garcia-Goodbarrel-Lopez de Estanques de Olmos! How’s your little Florinia doing?”  
  
“Much better, Señora Capitán Ra Fal del Río, Libertadora de Torreón, la Aventurera Mercantil de Nyangravorah de Ushkri! Her knee is healing perfectly, we don’t expect any scarring.”  
  
“Well, if it does, I can come by to tell her that scars are to be worn with pride, and show off some of my own.”  
  
“That would be a true kindness, Señora Capitán Ra Fal del Rio.” He snapped his fingers, as though just remembering something, then leaned forward conspiratorially. The gesture made it immediately obvious that something important was being discussed, and made it more likely, not less, that we would be overheard, but I played along. “You got an important-looking letter this morning. I put it in a drab envelope to make sure nobody would notice it.”  
  
I gave him the gnomish ‘okay’ hand signal, then leaned back and placed a pence and a dragonborn coin on the counter. He swiftly grabbed them and they disappeared into one of the dozens of pockets on his leather vest.  
  
I like dealing with gnomes. They appreciate my flamboyance, and they appreciate a good tip. Dwarves have this pseudo-religious belief in one true price for everything, so if you tip them they will just hand it back to you and grumpily repeat the listed price. The cleverer ones might give you a good or service technically valued at whatever you tipped, but they will not see this as you being nice to them. And elves, at least the local courts, have a philosophical refusal to give or accept tips under any circumstances. Something about unfair dominance and discrimination and causing social disruption, typical elf nonsense. But with gnomes, you can make a name for yourself and brighten everyone’s day by throwing money around, so I do.  
  
When I opened my box, I saw Raúl's drab envelope. When I opened it, there was indeed an important-looking letter from the Gray Ridge League of Armed Neutrality Space Command.  
  
I carefully slit the letter open with one of the knifes from my bandolier. It was a fairly standard adventuring job offer letter. I read it carefully, top to bottom, noting the requirements, conditions and reward. It was a specimen-collection trip to collect exotic wildspace flora. The payment was quite low, especially considering that it was a space mission with no transportation provided. Aside from the possible long-term political and career benefits of getting a good reputation with Space Command, there was no reason at all to take it.  
  
Then, at the bottom of the letter, I saw the list of people selected for the job, and everything changed. Identical letters had been addressed to six people who hoped to marry Martin Cooper. There were four adventurers and two nobles. I knew of six adventurers, four nobles, and at least a dozen other people who had proposed. The two adventurers with the most difficult personalities had been filtered out, and somehow two of the nobles had been added to the list.  
  
I was the most experienced adventurer on the list. Most were people of no reputation, people I only knew as potential rivals for the attention of Martin. This mission was listed as FSOC Level 3, well beneath me if I was with my equals, but just the right thing to give to the listed collection of people if you wanted to challenge them while being 95% sure they would all come back alive.  
  
This was obviously a test. Martin was looking for something to help him choose who to marry, probably a demonstration of leadership ability and field command skills. Everyone who was anyone knew that Martin had spent his career devoted to the cause of peaceful cooperation, to working with people of all races and cultures to make the world a better place for everyone. That was one of the many things that made him so attractive.  
 __  
 _I will prove to him that I am a competent leader. I will forge these people into a team, just like Martin forged the League itself, and prove my right to stand at his side. Then I will add my skills to his, and we will inspire hope and achievement in people across the region and forge the League into something truly great, an instrument for attaining the dreams and ideals and potential of all its people. The story of the power couple Ra fal and Martin and the young days of the League shall echo across generations._  



	6. Sofonisba Intro

In the lovely Gray Ridge Mountains,  
In a land of rhododendrons,  
In a land of beaver meadows,  
In a land of bright pine barrens,  
In a land of deep green hollows,  
There adventured Sofonisba.  
  
In the mystic Gray Ridge Mountains,  
In a land of swords and magic,  
In a land of gods and temples,  
In a land of ancient ruins,  
In a land of new beginnings,  
There adventured Sofonisba.  
  
In the wild Gray Ridge Mountains,  
In a land of fierce homesteaders,  
In a land of orcs and goblins,  
In a land of horrid monsters,  
In a land of ancient evils,  
There adventured Sofonisba.  
  
Sofonisba Anguissola:  
She was high-elf, lithe and cunning,  
Wielding magic, bow, and rapier,  
Skilled in all the ways of fighting,  
Skilled in many types of knowledge,  
Skilled in woodslore and equations.  
  
She worked for a court's book archive,  
Giving them her acquisitions.  
She had worked with many people  
And she always told them thusly:  
"I shall take all written matter.  
You can split all other treasures."  
  
Sofonisba, knowledge seeker.  
Sofonisba, beauty seeker.  
Sofonisba, skilled at fighting.  
Sofonisba, skilled in magic.  
Sofonisba, skilled in woodcraft.  
Sofonisba, skilled with figures.  
  
She would have more reputation,  
But she only worked as needed,  
Only worked when wanting money,  
Or she did some calculations  
And she found that in some dungeon  
There would be a trove of knowledge.  
  
She would join a looting party.  
She would crawl through likely dungeons:  
Ancient crypts, and fallen castles,  
Filled with monsters, traps, and hazards.  
She would fight things with her weapons,  
She would solve things with her knowledge.  
  
Her companions, rough and greedy,  
Seeking money, fame and glory.  
Sofonisba, she was different,  
She sought only ancient knowledge:  
"I shall take all written matter.  
You can split all other treasures."  
  
In her downtime, she sought beauty  
Up and down the mountain ranges.  
She would vanish in the wilds,  
Living off the lands she'd mastered,  
Living off the fertile bounty  
Of the wild mystic forests.  
  
But she knew that people sought her  
For her knowledge, for her fighting.  
So she had a ranger's contract  
With the local postal network:  
Once a fortnight, they would send her,  
On a red-tailed hawk, her letters.  
  
Of an autumn, came the mail-day,  
Came the mail-time, came the mail-hawk.  
With the postman's voice, the hawk said,  
"Letters for you, Sofonisba.  
With a special summons from the  
Space Command, of Gray Ridge Neutrals."  
  
Sofonisba thanked the hawk, and  
Fed it with a fresh-caught field mouse.  
While it ate the mouse, and waited  
Sofonisba read her letter,  
Read her letter with the summons  
To a new and strange adventure.  
  
Sofonisba quickly saw that  
She'd been chosen for a testing.  
They were testing Sofonisba  
Testing her, and several others  
Testing to determine who might  
Win the hand of Martin Cooper.  
  
The great wizard, Martin Cooper  
Kind and single, rich and handsome,  
Leader of the new assembly  
Of the peoples of the Gray Ridge.  
In a flight of elven fancy  
She had sent him her proposal.  
  
Martin Cooper, knowledge seeker.  
Martin Cooper, beauty seeker.  
Martin Cooper, skilled at fighting.  
Martin Cooper, skilled in magic.  
Martin Cooper, skilled in woodcraft.  
Martin Cooper, skilled with figures.  
  
So she wrote a hasty letter,  
Quickly wrote a simple letter  
To the place where all would gather,  
To the diner in the spaceport  
Martin Cooper'd built for gathering:  
"I am coming - Sofonisba"  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues at [coopershopefuls.blogspot.com](http://coopershopefuls.blogspot.com/), updating once a week. I will copy more chapters here if there is reader demand.


End file.
